


A Single Candle (Is All I'll Need)

by Bofursunboundbraids



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Dancing, Eating, Family Fluff, Gen, Platonic Kissing, Snow, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 11:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5495933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofursunboundbraids/pseuds/Bofursunboundbraids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <a href="http://s1081.photobucket.com/user/fangirly_squeal/media/A%20Single%20Candle%20cover_zpsnl8msscy.jpg.html"></a>
  <br/>
  <img/>
</p><p> </p><p>  <em>It was quickly getting dark, out there on the street.</em></p><p> </p><p>  <em>Dís rubbed at the fogged window with a rag, trying to clear a spot on the icy cold pane. When the glass was as dry as it would ever get, she peered out at the snowy street, alive with the goings, to and fro, of people, human for the most and all eager to get home to their loved ones. For it was mid-winter. The shortest day. The darkest night. And somewhere out there, in the cold, the two souls dearest in all the world to her were working to make their way back home.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Single Candle (Is All I'll Need)

**Author's Note:**

> And now for something ...kind of different....
> 
> This started out as an idea I played around with two years ago. And in wanting to do a story especially for the season, I thought I would dust this off and see where it took me. The setting is a place of my own invention. I imagined a city, if not on the coast, then on one of the southern most branches of the Anduin that lead out into the sea. As far as time, I'm ignoring the canon timeline that says Thrain and Thorin settled in Ered Luin in 2802 t.a. I'm imaging that at some point Dís, Dwalin, and Thorin went off on their own after the Battle of Azanulbizar. Disillusioned by war, they travel south to see a city they had heard tales of before making their way across country to Ered Luin. So...what? 2810 of the third age? Anyway...what I'm saying is the kids are still pretty young. And completely on their own.
> 
> As for the relationship they have with one another...way back when, I did imagine them as a sort of OT3...Dwalin and his two lovely Durins...but I know that can cross squick lines for some people so I leave it up to the reader. If you stand on your head and look sideways...

It was quickly getting dark, out there on the street.

Dís rubbed at the fogged window with a rag, trying to clear a spot on the icy cold pane. When the glass was as dry as it would ever get, she peered out at the snowy street, alive with the goings, to and fro, of people, human for the most and all eager to get home to their loved ones. For it was mid-winter. The shortest day. The darkest night. And somewhere out there, in the cold, the two souls dearest in all the world to her were working to make their way back home.

As she tried to ignore the twinge of unease that had taken residence in her belly, she lit a candle and set it on the window sill, the tiniest beacon to ever light the way home. She wished she had twenty more candles. A hundred more! But, unfortunately, candles, while not dear weren't exactly free and she had promised her cousin no unnecessary expenditures. 

"I know my way home," Dwalin had reassured her on that chilly morning, 6 weeks earlier, as he was preparing to leave home, a guard with a caravan of merchants traveling to Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith. With Dís buried in his arms and his lips pressed to Thorin's, he had made his cousins a teary promise of his return "by mid-winter. And one candle is all I'll need to find you."

By mid-winter, he had said. Well, today marked the middle of the season, and Dwalin had not, yet, returned. Dís had voiced her worries to her brother, early that very morning, but Thorin had only smiled at her, his eyes glittering deep blue by the light of the fire.

"We are khazad," he had said as he'd nuzzled the raven black curls on her head, his arms wound tight about her, "and we follow a wholly different light to find home." He had laid his hand upon her breast, over her heart, to make his point. Then he had kissed her and taken his leave of her for his work at the forge. Dís had watched, from the shelter of the outer doorway, as he had made his way down the street until, turning a corner, he had disappeared from sight. 

"Please protect him," she had whispered to the one who had carved her people from out of the stone. Just as she did every morning.

++++++

"Where'd that all come from, then? Dís! Hey! Phil! Quick! Come n' lookit this!"

Pulling her thread taut, Dís looked up to see what had gotten Eula up on her toes, her face pressed to the front window of the shop, bouncing with excitement. Phil ran past just then, her work in the storage room abandoned for the promise of something wonderful. Setting her own work aside, Dís slid down from her stool and joined her fellows. 

At first she wondered who had laid a sheet across the window because all she could see was white, with very faint figures visible, here and there, but then...

"Where'd all that bloody snow come from?" Phil asked, loud enough to get a "shush!" from Eula, for such unladylike speech was not allowed. 

Snow. It was literally everywhere. And deep! "When had that happened?" Dis wondered. The day had dawned, bright winter blue with nary a cloud in the sky and a wind as fierce and chilling as any she had experienced. But now...all was covered in a blanket of white that was only getting deeper by the minute, the snow falling steadily from iron grey skies. And it wasn't yet mid-day.

"Ladies! What's this, then? Do I pay for gawking?" Mistress Zulime came bustling out from the back of the the dress shop she owned and operated, "Tell me what's the fuss...oh." With her face pressed to the window, she, too, was taken with the sight before her and left wondering where it had all come from, and with two gowns still waiting to be picked up...

Clapping her hands, she brought her girls to her attention, "Well, it's a merry thing, no? Snow on _Durufuin_! It has been many years since we had a snowfall on the day, oh...way before you all were born. Well, let's hope Betty and Abigail arrive soon and fetch their ladies' frocks. Then it will be our time for bubbly cheer! Shoo!" She waved her hands as if scaring away pigeons, "Get on with ya!" 

Phil and Eula, still buzzing about the snow and the promise of fizzy wine, dutifully went back to their work, sharing a cheery song of the season between them. Dís watched, wishing she felt that same lightness in her heart, but she couldn't. Not with the snow rising higher with every passing minute.

"My tiny Dís, child, what troubles you?" Zulime asked, noticing that the lass was not sharing in her shop-sisters' glee. She had come to care for the young dwarf ever since she had first appeared on the doorstep of the shop, in need of employment, many months before.

Dís shook her head, "It's nothing, miss, it's just..." she glanced back toward the front window, again seeing nothing but white, "the snow is falling so fast and thick. I was just thinking it would be a terrible thing to be caught out in it."

"Yes," Zulime said, nodding in agreement, "Is no sort of weather for man or beast. But your kind...it is said your kind are made of stone. Snow is no bother to stone."

Dís nodded, "Aye, it is said. But it is not true. We can break and bleed just the same as men. And we can freeze. See?" She pinched the flesh of her forearm, "This is not stone."

"Who is out there?" Zulime bent down to look Dis in the eye, "Who is it will freeze?" 

"My cousin, Dwalin, is out there." Dís could no longer fight the tears once she'd uttered his name, "He is expected home soon...any day. I just...I can't help seeing him, lost out there, in all that white. 

Zulime pulled a handkerchief from out of a pouch she wore on a belt at her waist and handed it to the sniffling girl. "Do you have faith in your cousin? Can he handle himself, out there in the world?" 

Dís wiped at her nose and nodded. "Yes I do. The very strongest faith. But I can't help but worry. Besides my brother, he is really all I have in the world. And it being the darkest night...we should not be apart like this."

"Darkest night? You mean the mid-winter?"

"Yes, miss."

"Ah," Zulime nodded, again surprised by how so much she believed to be true about dwarves was wrong. "I can understand your worry, but, come now!" she clapped Dís on on the shoulder, her voice taking a brighter tone, "Don't you fret! Would your cousin want you sad and grim on a day when your heart should feel nothing but merriment? No, of course not. He will come home to you, safe and all in one piece."

Dís looked into the kindly face of the woman who had done so much for her since arriving in that city by the sea and she wanted to believe in her kindly words. Yes! Of course! Dwalin, ever strong and stalwart Dwalin! Fearsome to behold and trice as gentle was her Dwalin...she was a silly fool to worry about him...out there...in the ever deepening drifts...

She dried her eyes and gave mistress a pretty smile. "Yes miss. I believe he will."

"You aren't to be alone tonight? You have your brother coming home to you?"

Dís nodded vigorously and Zulime saw a true light blossom within the lass. "Yes," Dís said, her anxiety about Dwalin beginning to lessen, "Thorin returns home to me every night. He always returns home. He is my constant," She chuckled, "my _rock_. He does believe himself to be made of stone, but it's really quite the opposite."

**_DING!_ **

The front door flew open with a ring of the bell, a flurry of chill air, and the cacophony that arose from the mouths of Abigail and Betty, two ladies' maids who were tardy in fetching their respective lady's frocks and paying the price in frost bit noses and numb toes. 

"OH!" Abigail wailed to all within earshot, "What a miserable business this is! What doom does all of this snow portent? The world is freezing and here I am to fetch a dancing frock! Dancing? We shall be statues in ice before the day is over!"

"Statues, indeed!" Betty cried, trying to stamp some warmth into her lower extremities, "We are being punished by the creators for this city's wicked ways, I just _know_ it!"

"The only thing you are going to be punished for, Miss Betty, is presenting Lady Boni a soggy gown!" Mistress Zulime scolded the girl. Enlisting Dís' aid, she wrapped up the delicate gowns and passed them off, hoping that her patrons would receive them in as pristine condition as possible and not wet, bedraggled messes.

When the whingeing maids had left, and the shop was quiet once again, Zulime called her girls to her. 

"Lock the door, Eula, and turn the sign! Phil, fetch the basket there behind the new bolts of lawn! And Dís...get us three glasses from the cupboard! Let us raise some cheer and add some warmth to our blood before we venture out into this _wicked_ winter! Bless us, my lasses! We have earned our cheer!"

++++++++

There were precious few things that filled Dís with delight quite like the smell of meat, roasting on a spit, and the boneless leg of lamb she had sitting over the fire was performing admirably in that regard. Ladling a spoonful of drippings over the glistening joint, she was beginning to feel the merriment, apropos of the mid-winter celebration, bubble up within her...not unlike the bubbles in the sparkling wine Mistress Zulime had poured for her and the other girls. The only thing that would make her feel a true lightness of spirit, which was the ultimate goal of the revelries, would be to watch her beautiful Thorin walk through the door. Dwalin returning home would only make it complete.

Earlier that afternoon, Dís had left Mistress Zulime's dress shop with a purse full of jingling coins, a gift of gratitude from her employer. While she knew the extra coin would have to be added to the fortune growing in the locked box that was hidden underneath the bed, she had decided she could take one and spend it on something wonderful...something to surprise and delight Thorin, who would return home weary after a long, hot day spent at the forge and anvil. 

The snow drifts had begun to grow deep, knee high to the dwarf in places but, thankfully, Dís was able to move along paths gouged out by the multitude of fellow travelers also in need of last-minute requirements for their mid-winter feasts. A stop at the butcher's shop had gotten her that fine boneless leg, "perfect for roasting on yer 'earth, miss." The baker had still had some lovely iced currant-buns on her racks, and the grocer had thrown in two extra oranges, "free of charge, ma'am, on account of the day, of course." 

As Dís had made her way towards her humble home, she had stopped outside a shop festooned with greenery. A woman, her excited children hopping about at her sides, begging for whatever treat it was she had just purchased, came noisily out of the shop and Dís entered before the door had a chance to swing closed. Inside was a riot of colors; red and green, red and white, green and white, blue, yellow, pink, purple. It was a confectioner's shop, stocked with local treats, such as the achingly sweet candies made of brown sugar, cream, and pecans as well as that bitter cocoa bark from lands farther south. Dís walked about the shop, taking it all in as she looked for the perfect sweetmeat to surprise her brother with. At last she settled on a box of candies that were like gumdrops, but shaped like slices of citrus fruits, as well as a box of maple sugar which had been molded to look like bite-sized leaves. 

When Dís finally reached her front door, the snow was still falling and, except for the bonfires that had been lit, here and there about the town, the night was as black as pitch. Letting herself in, she immediately went to work, first lighting a bonfire of her own on the hearth, and then preparing the meat for the spit. And work she did until the old clock on the mantel chimed seven times. 

"Thorin should've been home by now." She heard herself say out loud. Sitting hearth-side, she looked about the sparsely furnished sitting room that also served as a kitchen and wished there was something within her power to speed her brother along. A candle had already been lit and was burning as brightly as it could on the window sill. The lamb was roasting and she had sweet potatoes, wrapped in muslin, buried in the hot ashes. Just then a blast of wind rattled the outer shutters which startled her, sending an icy shiver running down her spine. She sat still and listened. Again the wind blew, whistling down the street, again shaking the shutters. Suddenly the heat from the hearth was not fulfilling its duty to warm her blood and she got up to retrieve the old shawl that had been her mother's many years before. 

With the familiar wool about her shoulders she remembered a story mama used to tell her and Frerin, back in those early years, not long after the dragon had driven their people out into the world. Back then Dís had been a child, and a wild one at that, running loose in every man village they came to. Back then it had been her brother Frerin who had been at her side, charged only with the task of keeping his sister out of trouble. And there were moments when he had succeeded.

The story was one widely told by the parents of Dale, a warning to their children against wandering outside during the long, dark nights of winter. It told of a wicked old woman, born of shadow, who lived in a hidden cavern on the far side of the Lonely Mountain with her three-and-ten wicked lads. During the pitch black of darkest night, it was said, they would wander through the city at midnight, when there was neither light from star nor moon, and snatch stray children, human or dwarrow, it did not matter. Snatch them and spirit them away to the lair of the shadow woman where they would be beyond rescue. It was there that the children would remain and, in time, they would become nothing more than shadows and, forgetting their true names, they would join the wicked lads in the snatching. 

Dís could see her mama vividly in her mind; tired and sad and sitting by a too small fire in some village or other that didn't want them. A wave of regret washed over her...regret for the way she had behaved in those early years, regret that she had added to her mother's weariness...her sadness. Pulling the shawl tighter about herself, Dís whispered, "I miss you mama and I love you and I am sorry...I love you papa...I love you Frerin." A tear slid down her cheek.

A deafening howl of wind woke her from her melancholic musing with a shock. Spinning on her stool to face the window, her heart remained stuck in her throat as she caught sight of the outer door to their rooms slowly opening and...

A small mountain of a figure came stomping in, a wet, snow-covered cloak hiding whoever was inside. But Dís knew exactly who it was and by the time Thorin was able to throw back the sodden hood, she was upon him, her arms thrown wide about him, her mother's shawl fallen and lying upon the floor.

"Oomph!" Thorin huffed as Dís knocked the breath from him. "My little diamond...that was a welcome fit for Durin himself!"

"Old Durin wouldn't receive half the welcome, I can assure you!" Dís rejoiced, all of the sadness that had been surrounding her suddenly gone, blown away by the wind and the sight of her brother's beautiful, if ice-bitten, face. After placing a kiss on the tip of his chilled neb, she immediately went about unlatching her brother's cloak and removing it from him, revealing the large sack he had slung over his shoulder.

"Forgive me the lateness of the hour," Thorin said, walking his sack to the large table where was laid the beginnings of a delicious, if meager, holiday feast, "but Malakar, that Harad coach driver, you know the one..."

Dís nodded her head. Well she knew the man, having had him pointed out for her by her shop sisters. He was tall and fine of feature with skin as dark as ebony and capable of making a lady feel rather light and silly in her head.

"One of his team threw a shoe, which wouldn't've been a lengthy task except, on inspecting the other horses, it was discovered that others were soon to follow."

"Were they really? Or was this just Master Rouz trying to make some extra coin?" Dís asked, suspicious of the man Thorin worked for. More than once he had passed off her brother's work as his own. But the man did pay well and more than once Thorin admitted that that was enough to ensure his silence. 

"It was legitimate, believe it or not! Anyway, that is the reason I am home late. Oh..." He pulled a dark bottle out of his sack, "...and this." 

Taking the bottle from her brother's hands, Dís read the elegant type face on the label. It was wine of a rich, dark red variety that she was very fond of. This earned her brother an excited squeal and a kiss on the cheek as he continued to empty his sack. He pulled out scarlet red apples, a block of sharp cheese, and a box full of a pastry made of delicate sheets of dough layered with chopped nuts and honey. Each and every thing to come out of the sack was added to the table until a fit and proper feast was laid out before them. 

Thorin took a deep breath and released the air, loudly. "Is that lamb I smell?"

"It is." Dís went to the hearth and, carefully, pressed at the meat with her finger. "And it is ready."

"Good! I am fit to eat an entire ram!" Thorin boasted, walking to his sister and, throwing his arms about her, squeezed her tight and kissed her solidly on her forehead. Laughing, she pushed at his chest.

"You smell like a sweaty horse! Go...clean up! I'll get everything ready." 

And while Thorin removed himself to the washroom, Dís bustled about, pulling the sweet potatoes from the ash and removing the lamb from the spit. Onto the table they went, presented on cracked, mis-matched crockery, most of it on loan from Mistress Zulime. And off came Dís' apron and she shook out her skirts and when Thorin re-emerged, she bowed to him as the lady of the house would to her lord. 

Thorin looked about, delighted by his sister's labors, "If I did not know any better, I would say we were in the great hall..."

"Oh no...don't say that. I do still have some memories, you know." Dís shook her head, grateful of her brother's praise but feeling the overstatement was unwarranted. "Come," she stretched out her hand to him, all washed clean and wearing a simple, well-mended, but clean, tunic, "the lamb is ready for you to carve."

Thorin took her hand and together they went to the table. Taking up the knife he carved the lamb into slices while she doled out sweet potatoes and rolls. He poured her wine before filling his own cup and raising it he offered thanks for what they had, in the dark of winter, and for who he had at his side; his sister, his constant, his diamond.

"We are truly blessed." Dís took a sip of her wine, feeling the oaky warmth flow down and through her. And, with that, they could wait no longer and immediately tucked into their meals. The meat was rich and flavorful with a hint of rosemary and the sweet potatoes were perfect, drenched in butter and dusted with shaved cinnamon.

They ate slowly and shared stories about their day, the sudden on-set of snow at the forefront. Dís explained the delightful effects of fizzy wine, which resulted in Thorin promising her a bottle to help them welcome in the new year. And Thorin informed Dís that the handsome Harad coachman had spoken of nothing but his wife for nearly the entire time his horses were being reshod. This was disappointing news, not for herself, mind, but the girls at the shop, "especially Eula...she carries quite a torch for him."

"Does she?" Thorin mumbled around a mouthful of lamb, "That's very curious...she is not of Harad blood."

"No, but she fancies him all the same." 

"Hmmm..." Thorin hummed, ripping apart a current-bun, "It is just as well that Malakar is already wed to one of his own kind."

Dís watched her brother closely from across the table, "You don't think a heart can find its mate beating in one of another race?"

Thorin lowered his fork and met his sister's gaze, "I don't know, dearest. For men it may be of no consequence. But that is not so for us. Do not worry...one day you will meet the soul that completes you. In the Blue Mountains. I promise."

Dís smiled at her brother...her beautiful older brother...who, had things been different, would surely have been wed by now...with children of his own...and a throne awaiting him. And she sent a silent plea to the master of their fates that one day Thorin would find his true home, beating in the breast of another.

When the siblings had eaten their fill, Thorin emptied the bottle into their glasses and they moved to the low bench set before the hearth. Dís insisted that Thorin sit as she scampered into the bedroom, quickly returning, a package wrapped in thin white paper in her hands.

"For you!" She blurted, holding the package out for her brother to take. "It's nothing much..." She tried to continue, but Thorin only looked at her, with sapphire eyes lit by the fire.

"Shhh...don't, Dís. It is enough." And he went to work, carefully unwrapping the package, trying his utmost best not to rip the paper. Inside he found a shirt, made of a nubby silk dyed the most brilliant shade of blue.

"Durin blue, isn't it?" Dís asked, wondering if she'd gotten the shade right. Mistress Zulime had let her hand dye the fabric, scrap leftover from a lady's gown. 

"Aye, Dís, indeed it is." Thorin held it out before him. It was a beautiful garment and he took in all the details, including his initials embroidered on the breast in matching thread. "I will wear this the day we arrive in the Blue Mountains."

"They will know you for a lord." Dís said, pleased with her brother's reaction to the shirt.

"I do not doubt they will. Thank you." Thorin whispered as he set the shirt gently to the side. Then, rising, he went to retrieve one more item from his sack.

He held a small, plain, wooden box in his hand. "For you, diamond. I wish it were..."

"Stop it!" Dís scolded, taking he box from him, "If I'm not allowed, then surely neither are you."

After untying the twine that held it closed, she cracked the lid open...

Lying on a scrap of old velvet lay a hair comb of silver with bits of odd shaped crystals embedded in it. Taking it from the box, she couldn't help the tears that welled in her eyes.

"Thorin, this is beautiful." 

"It's only polished glass," Thorin pointed out, "but one day, Dís, they will be diamonds. I promise you this as well."

"Thorin...I don't want diamonds. And I don't want gold. I just..." Dís wiped away the tears that had collected in her lower lashes. "Here," she held the comb out, "...would you?"

Thorin took the comb, "It would be an honor." And, moving down to the rug before the fire, he went about removing the pins that held his sister's hair in the upswept mode popular with the ladies of the town. With her hair laying in a cascade of thick, black curls down her back, he went about putting in braids...so many braids...and when he was done he arranged them just so and, using the comb, assured that they would stay in place. It did his heart so much good to see his pretty sister wearing her hair as a proud daughter of Durin should. 

"How do I look?" Dís asked, not wanting to run to the dark, cold washroom at the back of the house to look in their one mirror.

"Absolutely beautiful." Thorin managed to utter before being tackled by a grateful sister.

"Thank you! Thank you so much! I think I shall wear my hair like this from now on. I am khazad, like you said...I need to start remembering that." Dís raised a hand to her brother's head, combing her fingers though a fall of silken waves. The firelight glistened off strands of silver, peppered amongst the black. But it couldn't be...he was much too young. She took one of his braids in hand and although it was tight and fine, she asked if she could rebraid it for him.

"Please." Was all Thorin said. And Dís went to work, first on the one and then on to the other.

"There is no one alive who could mistake you for anything other than the lord that you are." Dís sat back on her heels, taking in the sight of her brother before her. She couldn't tell if the blush on his cheeks was from her words or a result of sitting so close to the fire.

"My sister," he looked at her from under his lashes, "that is the wine speaking."

"No it is not!" Dís sat up tall on her knees, "I told mistress, today, that you are my rock."

"And was that the fizzy wine talking?"

"No." Dís donned a small pout, wishing her brother would stop thwarting her compliments.

Thorin's shoulders slumped and he cast his eyes at the floor. "If only it were a finer stone."

A look of disbelief settled on Dís' face and she crawled forward until her knees touched her brother's. "Don't say such a thing to me, Thorin Thrainul. Never again! You are from the same rock kings have been carved from...and one day, brother, you _will_ be king!" And, leaning forward, she placed a kiss on his lips, pure and sweet. 

Thorin had been left with precious little, after the dragon came, and afterwards what had been left fell away, piece by piece. Thrór, Frerin, Mother, and Father...wherever he may be...until all that was left was Dís, his little sister, who had come into the world red-faced and screaming and who, no matter how hard things got for them, in their life on the road, embraced it and managed to make the best of their situation. And tonight was a perfect example of that. Getting to his feet, Thorin reached a hand out to help Dís to her's.

"I believe I owe my lady a dance." 

To this Dís jumped in place, an excited squeak escaping her lips, and she ran to fetch the music box Phil had given her not long after she had come to work at the dress shop. 

Turning the small key on the underside of the box until it would turn no more, she set it upon the mantel and, together, Dís and Thorin giggled their way through a spirited dance that was comprised as much from steps they had learned as children as it was steps they made up themselves on the spot. And when the music began to slow, Thorin was quick to pounce upon the box, winding it up so as to do it all over again. 

They were in the middle of a vigorous, arm-in-arm swing-about when they failed to recognize the sound of feet out in the hall, outside their door. And they were laughing too hard, their hearts beating hard in their own ears, to hear a key, wiggling within the lock or to see the door swing open...

"HA! Bless me! What a gorgeous sight this is!"

Dís and Thorin stopped mid-turn and then they both turned, towards the voice, that _glorious_ voice they were both so afraid they were imagining in their wine-and-dance induced euphoria. But no, it was not a hallucination...not imagined...for there, before their very eyes, stood Dwalin, their beloved cousin. Home. Safe and sound. Just as he'd promised. Dís ran to him, only to be swallowed up in his thick arms. 

"Aww...my wee Dís! A lovely sight you are for these road weary eyes! Six weeks of ugly men and the ass-ends of horses is quite enough! It does my heart good to see you, lass!"

Dís' answer was a kiss, a lingering kiss that warmed the weary dwarf right down to his toes. And, with her still locked in one arm, Dwalin reached out and touched Thorin's face. "And you. Oh how I missed my darlin's!"

"But you are home now!" Dís couldn't quite believe this good fortune, especially after all of the worrying she had put herself through, thinking about him out there in the wilderness, in the snow and cold. "Come, you must be starving and exhausted! Put your things down and get cleaned up...Thorin!" She interrupted her brother giving their cousin a right proper kiss of welcome, "Relieve Dwalin of his burden as I prepare his meal."

Dwalin loosened the knotted rope that held a keg on his back. "I hope you don't mind, I brought home a quantity of quality libation, a gift from my employer. Apparently the ol' bastard was quite pleased with me and has offered me a place on his next run."

Dís' heart plummeted in her chest. "You're not leaving us again?"

"Not for a couple months or so. The ol' bastard isn't keen on traveling during winter. This blasted snow, so far south, was enough to near give him the apoplexy! So I'll be around and in yer pretty hair, love. I'm hopin' Rouz can use me 'til then."

"That won't be a problem," Thorin carried the keg to the table covered with the ample remains of their dinner. "He's been bugging me about when you'll be back."

"Brilliant!" Dwalin clapped his hands , "Now, to the loo to make myself presentable to the lady of the house." But not before nuzzling said lady behind the ear.

"Oh, off with you!" Dís scolded through her giggles, "And be quick! We'll have your dinner set before the fire."

A plate, overflowing, was set, there, before the blazing fire, as well as a frothing cup of beer, and it was everything Dwalin had dreamt of ever since his caravan had begun its journey back towards home, or at least the shape home took at that moment in their lives. And while he ate, he shared tales of the places and people he had witnessed, of encounters with other khazad, surviving in the cities of men. And he listened to Thorin and Dís as they shared their tales of daily life, quite ordinary really, but to him it was nothing but absolutely lovely. And when he had swallowed every last mouthful, and had wiped the beer foam from his whiskers, Dwalin offered that there could be no finer place to spend the longest night of the year than with the ones he loved, right there, before the fire. So, together they pulled the blankets and quilts from the bed and made for themselves a nest before the hearth. And, like naughty children, they sat up late, eating sweets and singing the wicked songs Dwalin had learned on the road. 

The fire began to crackle and burn low and even dwarves become sleepy. Dís lay in the makeshift bed, a snoring cousin on one side of her, a brother on the other. She listened to them breath, thinking it the most wonderful sound in the world. Dwalin and Thorin, the two halves of her heart, were there with her. They were together as they should be, as they always _would_ be. This she said out loud, as a solemn promise. Her softly spoken words illicited a snort from Dwalin and his arm found it way around her waist, pulling her in, close to his warmth. Sighing deeply, she released the last bit of the day's tension from her soul and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially supposed to be a part of a bigger narrative which was going to be my attempt at creating a city in Middle-earth that was along the lines of 18th century New Orleans; a prosperous, culturally diverse society that would differ considerably from the other, established cities. But then some little 1950's AU took over my life and this got left in the folder until now. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://bofursunboundbraids.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!!


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